Chapter 15 - When Beatrice Walked Away
Beatrice confronted Victor in the private medical suite where he was being treated.
He did not deny it.
That was the worst part.
“Did you order Nathan to kill my father?”
Victor looked toward the window.
“Yes.”
One word.
Four letters.
Sixteen years of grief.
Beatrice stood frozen.
Desmond remained outside because she had asked him to.
This conversation belonged to her.
Victor’s voice was weak.
“I didn’t tell Nicholas to kill him.”
“You just said yes.”
“I told him Patrick needed to be stopped.”
“What did you think that meant?”
“I told myself it meant intimidation.”
“Told yourself.”
“Yes.”
“You knew who Nathan was.”
“Yes.”
“You knew what he could do.”
“Yes.”
“Then you ordered it.”
Victor closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Beatrice’s hands shook.
“Why?”
“Patrick planned to expose everything.”
“Everything?”
“My theft. Rourke’s network. Nathan.”
“So you saved yourself.”
“Yes.”
No excuses.
She almost hated him more for that.
Victor opened his eyes.
“I have regretted it every day.”
“My mother regretted waiting for Evan every day.”
“I know.”
“My father didn’t get days to regret anything.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
He went quiet.
Beatrice moved toward the door.
Victor spoke.
“He left something for you.”
She stopped.
“No more letters.”
“Not a letter.”
“What?”
“A choice.”
She looked back.
Victor’s eyes were wet.
“Patrick found evidence against Desmond too.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Victor shook his head.
“Evidence from before Patrick worked for him.”
“What?”
“Your father could have destroyed Desmond’s life twenty years ago.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“Because he believed Desmond could change.”
Beatrice laughed bitterly.
“Everyone keeps making my father responsible for everybody’s conscience.”
“No.”
Victor’s voice was gentle.
“He simply believed people are what they choose after knowing better.”
The words stayed with her.
She left.
Desmond waited in the corridor.
He stood when he saw her.
“What happened?”
“He admitted it.”
Desmond’s face hardened.
Beatrice walked past him.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“I’ll take you.”
“No.”
“Beatrice.”
She turned.
“No, Desmond.”
Something in her voice stopped him.
“I have spent five years managing your crises.”
“Yes.”
“I spent months investigating Rourke.”
“Yes.”
“My brother returns from the dead. My father was murdered. Your adviser ordered it. Your attorney carried it out. Rourke manipulated everyone.”
Her voice broke.
“And through all of it, every man keeps deciding what I need to know for my own protection.”
Desmond went silent.
“I need one night where nobody follows me.”
His instinct resisted immediately.
She saw it.
“Don’t.”
He exhaled.
“Okay.”
“No Marco.”
“Okay.”
“No security downstairs.”
He hesitated.
“Desmond.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you.”
She left.
For the first time since she had entered his life, Desmond let her walk away without making sure he knew exactly where she was.
It felt unbearable.
Beatrice returned to her apartment.
She turned off her phone.
Closed the blinds.
Took a shower.
Then sat on the floor of her bedroom surrounded by old family photographs.
At three in the morning, she found one of Patrick holding her on his shoulders.
On the back he had written:
Bee sees everything.
She cried then.
Not elegantly.
Not quietly.
She cried for her father.
Her mother.
The fourteen lost years with Evan.
The woman she had been before she entered Desmond’s world.
At sunrise, she slept.
When she woke after noon, someone had slid an envelope beneath her door.
No knock.
No message.
Her name.
Not Desmond’s handwriting.
Evan’s.
Inside:
Bee, I’m sorry.
I spent fourteen years telling myself I stayed away to protect you. The truth is uglier. I was ashamed.
Rourke gave me safety when I was terrified. Then money. Then responsibility. By the time I realized what I had become, I believed going home would destroy you.
That was cowardice.
Dad taught us home is a person.
I forgot.
You didn’t.
I’m going to fix what I can.
Beatrice’s heart raced.
A second page contained coordinates.
And one sentence.
Come alone if you want the truth.
She stared.
Then laughed without humor.
“Of course.”
Every man in her life apparently believed “come alone” was a reasonable request.
She turned her phone on.
Forty-three messages.
None from Desmond.
He had respected her boundary.
Somehow that mattered more than if he had sent fifty.
She called him.
He answered after half a ring.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
He exhaled.
She could hear the relief.
“Evan contacted me.”
“Where?”
“I’m sending coordinates.”
“I’ll come.”
She smiled faintly.
“I knew you’d say that.”
“Am I invited?”
The question surprised her.
Not “I’m coming.”
Am I invited?
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll be there.”
The coordinates led to an abandoned church outside Chicago.
Evan waited inside.
Alone.
At least apparently.
Beatrice entered with Desmond.
Evan looked at him.
“I said alone.”
Beatrice removed her coat.
“I’m done following instructions.”
Desmond smiled faintly.
Evan almost did too.
On the altar rested one sheet of paper.
The final ledger page.
Beatrice approached.
At the bottom was Patrick’s handwritten note.
Victor authorized the action.
Nathan performed it.
Thomas Rourke financed it.
Three men.
Not one.
All responsible.
Evan said, “Rourke gave me the page.”
“Why?”
“He wants Victor blamed publicly.”
“Of course.”
“Rourke thinks that clears him.”
“It doesn’t.”
“No.”
Evan looked toward Desmond.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Rourke is leaving Chicago tonight.”
Desmond’s eyes narrowed.
“Where?”
“Private rail terminal.”
“Why rail?”
“Airports are watched.”
“Destination?”
“Canada first.”
Beatrice stared.
“If he leaves, he disappears.”
Evan nodded.
“He also has Nathan.”
Desmond frowned.
“They’re together?”
“Not willingly.”
“What does Rourke want from him?”
“Access to accounts Nathan stole.”
“Then Rourke kills him afterward,” Desmond said.
Probably.
Beatrice looked at the final ledger page.
Three men had destroyed her father.
Victor was dying.
Nathan was hunted.
Rourke intended to escape.
She folded the paper.
“No.”
Desmond looked at her.
“What?”
“This doesn’t end with another secret meeting.”
“What do you want?”
“The truth.”
“Public?”
“Yes.”
“Beatrice.”
She faced him.
“All of it.”
That included Desmond.
His past.
His crimes.
His empire.
She expected resistance.
Instead he said:
“Okay.”
One word.
No negotiation.
Beatrice’s eyes filled.
“You know what that could cost you.”
“Yes.”
“Everything.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“Not everything.”
She understood.
And for the first time, she believed he truly did too.
That evening Desmond authorized his attorneys to provide federal investigators with Patrick Gallagher’s complete archive.
Including evidence against himself.
An hour later, every network connected to Thomas Rourke began collapsing.
But Rourke still had one final move.
Before disappearing, he released a video online.
Desmond Hayes.
Recorded years earlier.
Giving orders during a criminal operation.
By midnight the video had millions of views.
By one in the morning Hayes Capital’s stock-linked holdings were in free fall.
And by two, federal agents arrived with a warrant for Desmond’s arrest.
Beatrice watched him put out his hands calmly.
He looked at her.
“Don’t fix this.”
She stared through tears.
“What?”
“For once.”
A small smile.
“Let me face what I did.”
Then they took him away.
May you like
And Beatrice realized the strongest thing Desmond Hayes had ever done was stop running from himself.
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